


The Good Old Days

by Tinhatflash53



Category: DCU (Comics), Justice Society of America (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War I, Alternate Universe - World War II, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-08-01 04:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinhatflash53/pseuds/Tinhatflash53
Summary: (Young Justice universe, but mostly about the JSA){set between Seasons 2 and 3, written when 3 was not yet fully out. Consider it an AU}It's been a long time since the JSA has been active as heroes. After stumbling across an old photo, Jay Garrick recounts his adventures to Bart Allen. Ted Grant is greeted by a mysterious visitor. A young artist given more power than he understands is charged with seeking out the only person who can help: Alan Scott. All three heroes deal with both joyous and painful memories of the past and struggle to find their place in a world that continued on without them.





	1. From Humble Beginnings...

Jay Garrick nodded in approval as Barry and Bart sparred around the South Dakota badlands. At first, Jay had been able to spar with Bart himself, but as the boy grew faster, he’d turned to Wally, and after the arctic, Barry. Bart was keeping up well, even though Bary was on a more advanced level. The experience would do Bart good if he ever, God forbid, had to go up against Thawne or Zolomon. After Wally- died, Jay had been doing everything he could to make sure that Bart was ready for anything, and that included going up against a more powerful and experienced speedster. Suddenly, Barry stopped, Bart stopping a little bit later, and Barry nodded as he received direction from the League over his earpiece. After Barry gave a hand motion to Bart for him to stay with Jay, he sped off, leaving his grandson in the dust. Bart appeared at Jay’s side, obviously annoyed. “Stupid League,” he muttered.

Jay laughed heartily, “Ah, it’s nothing, Kid. I was just about to call it a day anyway.”

“What now, then?” Bart asked.

“Now we go home, Kid,” Jay returned, and sped off, leaving Bart to catch up quickly. They returned to Jay’s home in Keystone City, where Joan had cooked them up a dinner worthy of two speedsters, which is to say, very very big. As Bart returned from his room, now in civilian clothes, he noticed an old black and white photo on the Garrick’s mantle, depicting about twelve or so people, all heroes, standing in a line, obviously posing for the photo, under a banner that said “JSA 1st Annual Meeting.” 

“Hey, Jay,” Bart asked, “Who are all these people?”

“Oh, that?” Jay asked, walking over to look at the picture, “This is my old team! The Justice Society of America. Ah, I remember when they took this picture, it was just after the war ended, in 1945.”

“The Justice Society?” Bart echoed, “Never heard of them. What was fighting crime back in the 40s like? I bet it was a lot less weird than it is today.”

“Oh, no, plenty weird,” Jay smiled, “I once fought a time-travelling super nazi from the future who, in an attempt to kill me, may or may not have accidentally made me immortal.”

Bart stared at him, mouth hanging open. Jay laughed, then started to explain, “I guess I should start at the beginning. It all started during the Dunkirk evacuation…”

 

 

 

June 6, 1940  
Dunkirk, France  
The Flash

Artillery shells boomed as Jay raced down the beach, swerving to avoid the craters. A French soldier had twisted his ankle while running to the docks, and none of his squadmates were able to help him. Jay scooped up the soldier as he ran, and deposited him at the dock, waiting for the next British Destroyer to London. “Merci, Flash!” the soldier called as Jay sped away to help others.

“Damn Nazis,” Jay muttered as he swerved to avoid another shell, “they’ve been keeping this up since last week.” Thankfully, as he ran up and down the beaches of Dunkirk, there were no other stray soldiers to be seen. No living ones, anyway. Jay ran back to the docks, and picked up two uninjured soldiers, and began to run across the English Channel.

“Don’t worry, boys,” Jay said, “I’ll have you to London in no time.”

“Thanks, Flash,” one of the soldiers gasped, slumping against Jay’s shoulder. After about an hour of running, Jay hit dry land, and deposited the soldiers safely in Dover, England. As the two soldiers lined up for the train, Jay fell to his knees, gasping. He had been running since 6 in the morning, and it was now 3 o’clock in the afternoon.

Then, as he lay there, gasping he heard the foghorn of an English destroyer, bringing the last of the French and British troops to Dover. Jay, along with all of Dover, whooped and hollered with joy as the destroyer pulled up at the docks, and hundreds of troops set foot on the safety of the British Isles.

Satisfied that his work was done, Jay ran to Wales, where he was staying in a hotel. He vibrated into his room before anybody saw him, and took off his helmet and suit, stashing them safely into his bag, and then promptly collapsed onto his bed, and slept like a rock.

Jay woke up at about 3 am, ate all he could, then put on his suit and ran to London. As Jay arrived, he tuned in just in time to hear Prime Minister Winston Churchill give the speech that would define the rest of the war:

“We shall fight on the hills, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the fields, and on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the streets, and we shall never, surrender!”

On that optimistic note, Jay ran to various shelters, helping soldiers restock ammunition, gather food, and prepare for the inevitable Battle of Britain. Soon, a Captain of the guard stopped Jay before he could leave, saying he was to report to Westminster Abbey at once.

Surprised, Jay ran to the iconic building, where right outside, Churchill himself was waiting. “Hello, Flash,” the Prime Minister said, smiling, “I have a proposition for you.”

 

April 24, 1934  
Gwynedd, England  
Alan Scott

The rails blurred into a haze as Alan drove his train. War with Germany seemed imminent more and more each day, and if that was so, Britain would need its supplies, transported by his railroad. His shoulders ached as he shoveled more coal into the fire, and as he replaced the shovel and straightened to a standing position. Peering into the setting sun, Alan noticed that the upcoming bridge’s guard rails were bent at awkward angles. “That's… odd…” Alan started to say, when he realized the bridge was out. Alan turned and ran for his life leaping between train cars and reaching the caboose. As the final car started to go over the edge of the broken bridge, Alan clung desperately to the green lantern hanging from the wall, and felt gravity lose its hold on him. His vision was blocked by a swath of green light, and he felt himself get flung sideways into the meadow bordering the canyon.

Alan was blown back by the impact, and he landed face down in the dirt. A booming voice sounded inside his mind, ALAN SCOTT OF EARTH, it said, YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO WIELD THE STARHEART. COME FORTH, AND RECEIVE YOUR RING OF POWER.

“Come again?” Alan asked, staggering to the crater the impact of the lantern had formed.

COME FORTH! It echoed.

Alan tumbled into the crater, hitting his head on the train lantern. “Ow!” He exclaimed, sitting up and rubbing the wound. As soon as he took his hand away, he inspected the lantern. It was like any other, but this metal was a peculiar shade of bright green. 

Suddenly, a green flash flew from the lantern, lodging itself on Alan’s outstretched finger. The green ring emitted a powerful glow, and the voice from the lantern spoke again: GOOD. NOW REPEAT THIS OATH:

IN BRIGHTEST DAY,  
IN BLACKEST NIGHT,   
NO EVIL SHALL ESCAPE MY SIGHT.  
LET ALL WHO WORSHIP EVIL’S MIGHT,  
BEWARE MY POWER!  
GREEN LANTERN’S LIGHT!

Alan tentatively reached out his hand. “In brightest day,” he repeated, “in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight. Let those who worship evil’s might, beware my power, GREEN LANTERN’S LIGHT!!!” and in a blinding green flash, Alan’s clothes had been replaced by a loose red shirt, green pants, black and red boots, and a high-collared cape that was black on the outside but green inside. Emblazoned on his shirt, an image of the lantern shined, in the middle of a plain, white circle.

WELL DONE, ALAN SCOTT. YOU HAVE BEEN DEEMED WORTHY BY THE STARHEART. NOW GO FORTH, AND PROTECT THIS PLANET CALLED EARTH. And with that, the voice of the lantern fell silent. Alan could feel the power coursing from the ring. Curious, he willed his costume away, and he was back in his railway uniform. He willed it back, and he was once again this powerful being. 

Delighted, Alan willed his ring to fix the bridge and restore his train’s cargo. And after a while, it finished every spike and cross-beam, and any salvageable cars were put back onto the tracks. Alan leapt with joy, causing him to soar several feet into the air. And stay there, hovering. “Am I… flying?” Alan asked himself, mystified at his newfound abilities. "Yes, Alan Scott. Flight is a standard ability of the Green Lantern," said a new, almost emotionless voice.

“Who-Who was that!?” Alan asked, alarmed.

"Do not be alarmed, Alan Scott. I am the voice of your power ring. I am here to assist you in discovering your abilities as the new Green Lantern of Sector 2814 B."

“Ok then,” Alan said, staring down at his ring, “Shall we get started?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

June 22, 1938  
Yankee Stadium  
New York City, New York  
Wildcat

The fight was ferocious right up until the end. Ted Grant, aka The Wildcat, was currently fighting for the title of Heavyweight Boxing Champion against Max Schmeling, the greatest boxer in Europe. The two seemed evenly matched, but Wildcat pulled ahead in the third bout. Grant listened to the announcer as he frantically tried to follow the fight.

“And Schmeling comes in for a right, Wildcat dodges and retaliates with a devastating uppercut! Wildcat presses the offensive, Schmeling is on the ropes, and Wildcat knocks Schmeling down! 10, 9, 8, 7, I don’t think he’s getting back up, folks, 3, 2, 1! Wildcat’s done it! Wildcat, the masked fighter from the US of A, has just defeated Max Schmeling, the greatest boxer in the world! What’s this, Wildcat is reaching under his shirt, he’s pulling out some sort of necklace, and- Holy Guacamole, it’s the Star of David! Wildcat turns out to be a Son of Solomon, fighting for his fellow jewish brethren in Europe! This is incredible!”

Ted replaced the Star of David under his shirt, and turned to leave the ring. Behind him, Max Schmeling was tearing off his gloves, and pulled something from the back of his shorts. “L’Shannah Tovah, jüdischen schweine!” Max yelled charging to stab Ted from behind.

Ted quickly sidestepped, then hand-chopped the back of Schmeling’s neck, knocking him out for good. The crowd held its breath in an astonished silence, then cheered even harder and louder than before. Ted walked off the stage, and out into the wings, where he left the stadium without any questions, and drove off to his home in New Jersey, to live the next years of his life in peace, never to return to the ring again, and never accepting the Champion’s Belt.

 

 

 

 

August 3, 1940  
Al'azraq-Sikrab Dig Site, Bialya  
Daniel Garrett

“Dr. Garrett! I found something!” Alexander Kord yelled, waving to the archeologist. 

“What is it, Alex?” Garrett asked, jogging over.

“I think it’s some sort of cave entrance,” Alex said, pushing away some moss, “I’ve never seen this beetle-like symbol before, but all the other hieroglyphs say things like, ‘Enter’ or ‘Beware’, and… I think that one says ‘Purify’.”

Dr. Garrett and his team had been searching for the lost Egyptian city of Al’azraq-Sikrab for years, and they had finally found it just two years ago, in a southwestern region of Bialya that had once been part of the Egyptian Empire. Ever since, they’d been excavating the ancient ruins, looking for the fabled Caves of the Blue Scarab, and it looks like they had finally had a stroke of luck. “That’s perfect, Alex!” Garrett laughed, “This has to be it! We’ve done it!”

Alex sat back smiling, “The Caves of the Blue Scarab. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Quickly, search for some type of entrance trigger. An indented hieroglyph, a loose stone, anything!” Garrett said urgently, and the two archeologists began searching. After several minutes of no luck, Garrett sat back, defeated. Then, he took a look at the beetle symbol in the middle, and looked at his companion. “You don't think…?” He asked. 

In response, Alex pressed the scarab. The wall opened, and the floor below them flipped up, sending them tumbling down into the cave. Garrett flipped and rolled for about a full minute, until he finally came crashing to a stop of cold sand. “Ow…” he muttered, rubbing his head. “Alex?” he called. 

“Over here!” he called back, his voice oddly strangled, “I’m stuck!”

Garrett ran over, shining his flashlight, and gasped. Alex’s fall had somehow triggered a boulder-trap, and now it was crushing his legs and waist, leaving only his upper body unscathed. Blood pooled out from underneath the boulder, and Garrett realized that the boulder must have crushed the arteries in his thighs. “My god…” he breathed.

“It's bad, isn't it?” he said. Garrett only nodded. “Well, promise me one thing… my wife, Maria… take...care of… her.” And Alexander Kord died, holding out a now bloodied picture of his pregnant wife.

Garrett knelt down and took the picture, closing his eyes, “I promise,” he breathed, then he stood up. “But first I have to get out of this damn cave.”

Garrett started his walk through the caves, the path twisting and turning, until it finally opened up into an antechamber, hieroglyphics lining the walls. But, the main attraction sat in the middle of the room, being a dusty blue scarab sculpture, dull and lifeless. Garrett went over to inspect it, and reached out to touch it. When he did, nothing happened. No booby traps, no curses, no reanimated mummies. To be honest, Garrett was a little disappointed. He fully picked up the scarab, and it sprang to life. It crawled up his sleeve and into his shirt, biting into his back as he cried out in shock and terror. Then, it transformed into a suit of armor, encompassing his entire body.

Hello, Daniel Garrett. I am Kahji Da. I was sent here long ago, but I do not remember why… do you remember? A voice said.

“I ah, um, what just happened!?!” Garrett responded, panicking.

My apologies, Kahji Da responded, As I said, I am Kahji Da. I am a scarab issued by [ERROR] to help [ERROR] this planet. Are you able to fill in the blanks, Daniel Garrett?

“I think so…” Garrett said, inspecting the hieroglyphs on the walls. “According to these hieroglyphics, the Ancient Egyptians thought you were sent to them by the god Khepri, to be their champion for battling the Greeks when they attacked. But, your host was horribly corrupted, and you had to be purified for 20 days and nights, by a great magician named Nabu. While you were out of commission, the Greeks invaded, and both you and Nabu were sealed away so you wouldn't fall into enemy hands.”

I see, Kahji Da said, I seem to remember this. These Egyptians… I remember my host. He was evil, but Nabu freed me from him, allowing me to assist others. What assistance do you require, Daniel Garrett?

“Well,” Garrett said, “let's start by getting out of this cave.”

 

 

 

October 2, 1934  
Albany, NY  
Rex Tyler

Rex carefully lifted the beaker, being sure to not let any drop of the new medicine spill. He emptied it into a syringe labeled “MIRACLO TEST 27”, and went over to the test rat.

Scrubs XXVII had been with Rex for the past two weeks. Now, it's going to make him a fortune. He injected the rat with the Miraclo formula, and as twenty-six other rats before him, Scrubs XXVII keeled over, frothing at the mouth.

Rex sat back and rubbed his eyes, grabbing at a tape recorder. “Pharmaceutical Log of Dr. Rex Tyler,” he sighed, “Miraclo Test 27. Results: As expected. The rodent brain simply can't handle the stress of the formula. A subject with a more advanced brain, such as a gorilla or an octopus, is required for a truly successful test. But, due to my dwindling funds, that is seemingly increasingly unlikely each day.” He stopped the recording, staring mournfully at the dead rat. “‘A gorilla or an octopus’, ha! Who am I kidding, eh, Scrubs? You and I know damn well that only the human mind can handle this stuff. But, I’d never get a human test subject after what happened to you!” The rat did not respond. Rex sat back, thoughtfully, “Unless…”

Rex then set to solidifying Miraclo into a pill, labeling it “Vitamin M”. Then, he held a pill in his hand, contemplating. “On one hand, I’m right, and this will turn me into a super-man. On the other, I’m wrong, and it will kill me by overloading all my brain-cells at once, and force my brain to literally commit suicide,” he thought aloud, staring at the Miraclo. “Whatever. I don’t want to live as a disgraced pharmacist anyway.” and without further hesitation, he downed the pill.

Rex immediately felt a surge of power, and accidentally crushed the portion of the desk he was holding on to. “Whoa,” he said, holding up the chunk of his metal desk, “These results, they’re unprecedented!” Then, as a test, he ran to the other side of the room. He was there so instantly, he almost went through the wall. And with his new abilities, he did not mean that figuratively. “Amazing!” he cried, leaping for joy. Then, he went sailing upward, going through the ceiling and sailing above Albany. And for a long while, he stayed at that altitude, simply by willing himself to. “Excellent!” Rex said excitedly, staring at his hands, “As I thought, Miraclo is both capable of increasing the durability of the human body, and repelling gravity for a short time!”

Then, he floated gracefully back to the ground, and to his lab. He quickly patched the hole in the roof with a black plastic garbage bag, then laughed to himself. “Surely, I must put these abilities to good use? Back in the War, they would’ve been invaluable! But, I mustn’t go out there as ‘Dr. Rex Tyler, Disgraced Pharmacist’! No, no, I must go out there as someone else, something, else… oh, and Miraclo only lasts for an hour!” he said to himself, the speed of his words and thoughts ever-increasing. “Wait, wait, that’s it! The Hourman!......... but I'll need a costume…” he said, putting on his coat, and heading out.

September 29, 1918  
The Battle of St. Quentin Canal  
Pvt. Wesley Dodds

 

“Come on, Over the Top, Men!” Maj. Gen. Read shouted, urging his men against the Germans. Young Pvt. Wesley Dodds eagerly charged across the field, out of his trench and directly into the line of German fire. The Australians had called for assistance from the American 2nd Division, and that was exactly what Wesley was here to do. He raised his gun, aiming for the spike-headed soldiers of the German lines, when suddenly artillery slammed down next to him. He wouldn't have cared, it didn't explode, but it started oozing yellow gas. 

Wesley cried out and ran back to the trench, fumbling with his gas mask and yelling, “GAS!” along the way. He wasn't fast enough. He fell to the gas, screaming in pain as it burned his skin and lungs. Luckily, an American and a Brit were there, shoving his mask on the rest of the way, and pulling him back to the trench. From there, medics took him to the rear, where as he was being jostled into an ambulance, he slipped into unconsciousness.

 

May 4, 1919   
Paris War Hospital

 

Wesley groaned as he woke up, the bright lights hurting his eyes through the glass of his mask. Wait… mask? he thought, and all the memories of the battle came back to him.

A nurse rushed in, seeing he was awake, and called for a doctor in French. He sat up, and asked through the mask, “Where am I?”

The nurse answered in a heavy but kind accent, “You are in Pari, monsieur, you have been unconscious for several months.”

“The War! Is it over?!” He asked frantically.

“Oui, monsieur,” the nurse responded, “Thanks to you Americans, Germany, Austria-Hungary, and the Ottoman Empire were defeated. You can go home now.”

“Thank god!” Wesley cried, moving to take off his mask, when the nurse cried out.

“NO, no, do not remove the mask!!” She cried, “it is the only thing keeping you alive!”

Wesley stopped, deadly calm. “What?” he asked.

“When you were brought to us, monsieur!” she said, “The mustard gas poisoning was so extensive, the antidote in the mask was the only thing keeping you alive! We thought you would never wake up!”

“I see…” Wesley said, despair and anger flooding into him. He got out of his hospital bed, and knocked the nurse down. “I'm checking myself out.” he said, and stepped over her unconscious, body to leave. He snuck around the hospital until he found where they kept their sensitive gases, and stole the mustard gas antidote, a strong knock-out gas, and a gas gun. With his new arsenal, he jumped out of the nearest suitable window. After he climbed out of the dumpster, he ran from the hospital, and hid beneath a bridge until dark.

The sirens stopped at around dusk, and Wesley decided an hour later it was safe to move. He snuck through the city, coming upon a clothing store, and stole himself some new underwear. Then, he searched for a suit shop, and slipped in the back door. Thankfully, there was no alarm nor an employee. He stole a dark green suit, replacing his hospital gown, then grabbed a brown fedora and a riding cape. He threw them on, then went back to where he had stashed the gas. He clipped the antidote canisters to his belt, then set up the gas gun backpack, hooking up the knockout gas and slipping into the harness. Then, he went out onto the bridge, stole the nearest car, and drove off to the east. “The Germans used gas to take my face,” he growled to himself, “MY LIFE! So I'll use gas to take theirs.”

 

 

 

 

June 1, 1918  
Third Battle of the Aisne, Royal Army Field Hospital  
Dr. Charles McNider

“Doctor! The Jerries!” cried an orderly as the gunfire drew near. Dr. McNider was an Irish field doctor brought in by the British to assist their forces. He had been shipped to the Battle of the Aisne to help put the Brits back into the trenches, and now Germany was knocking on his door. 

Swearing in Gaelic, McNider put down his medical kit and picked up the pistols of the two fallen officers he was attending to. “Come on, laddie, keep your head on. You keep these men alive, I’ll go ‘n talk to Fritz,” he said, gripping his revolvers. 

“Come out, Herr Doctorr!” A thickly accented voice cried.

“Time to get started, then…” McNider sighed, pulling down a pair of aviator’s goggles he had taken from and injured pilot. He raised the pistols.

“Come out, Doctorr, or ve vill fiyah!” The accent called again. BLAM! The accent fell silent. Several angry voices cried out in German, and McNider quickly side-stepped to avoid a rifle shot that buzzed through the tent, hitting a Jerry on the other side. McNider tackled his assistant down and covered his mouth, as above them, bullets flew all over, and it was quite a while until the Germans realized they were shooting themselves. 

Letting go of his assistant, McNider brought a finger to his lips, indicating silence, and rolled the man underneath one of the cots, and whispered in his ear. “They’ll storm the tent, now. Stay down.” 

Sure enough, a nervous German slowly entered the tent. McNider raised his gun, and fired into the man’s foreleg. The soldier cried out and fell, and was shot again by McNider before he could cry out again. Two more soldiers ran into the tent, stumbling over their comrade, and McNider shot them down, too. 

More and more soldiers added to the pile of bodies, until eventually they just started firing through the canvas again. McNider sprang to his feet, moving patients out of harm’s way. This pattern repeated for quite a while, the Germans desperately trying to kill the psycho-doctor that was slaughtering them so easily. Finally, a different twang of gunfire was heard, and several swears split the air in both English and German. 

McNider heard gunfire split the air, until thundering boots finally ran back towards the German trenches. “It’s alright, Doc!” an American called into the tent, “Jerries’ve gone and tripped over themselves to get away from us!” McNider carefully poked his head out, seeing the smiling faces of a battalion of American soldiers.

“‘Bout time you Doughboys show up,” McNider grumbled, lowering his guns, “They’ve been on me’ back since 6 o’clock this mornin’!”

“6 a.m.!?” The American cried, “Hell, Doc, it’s Midnight!”

“Is it really?” McNider answered, “Well, guess time really does fly when yer havin’ fun!”

June 7, 1940   
London, England   
The Flash

Jay sat there as the Prime Minister finished. “Why are you telling me this?” He asked.

“Because, Mr. Garrick,” Churchill said, “There is something that I very much need you to do.”

Jay stepped back, surprised that the Prime Minister knew his name. “Sir, I'm not-”

“Oh, come now. I'd know a Garrick anywhere,” Churchill smiled, “super-powered or otherwise. Your father saved my life during the war. I suppose it's only fitting for you to be here now.”

“I, um..” Jay stuttered, “Thank you, sir. But, this mission.”

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” the Prime Minister said, “I’d like to not involve the ah, greener agents I just described. The one we found most suitable was Alan Scott, the so-called Green Lantern.”

“What about Wesley Dodds?” Flash asked, “Surely he’s the most experienced?”

“Yes, but, the scenario I just described to you was 21 years ago,” Churchill responded, “Ever since, Dodds has been running around the German countryside, blowing up buildings and gassing civilians in their sleep. He calls himself the ‘Sandman’. Not exactly prime material, don't you think?”

“I think I see the point," Flash said flatly, his hopes falling.

“Good. The mission is infiltration and investigation,” Churchill said, “We have lost contact with our inside man in Berlin, who was investigating something only known as ‘The Reich’s Might’. I want you to infiltrate Berlin, gather all the information you can, and retreat. Green Lantern is already on his way to the Eastern Front, so I suggest you start to run.”

Jay gave the Prime Minister a “You’ve-Got-To-Be-Kidding-Me” face, then ran east.


	2. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Flash and Green Lantern storm Berlin, in search of a superweapon known as "The Reich's Might", and get a lot more than they bargained for. After a period of no word from the MIA heroes, Roosevelt and Churchill panic, and turn to the last people they ever wanted to...

Jay ran through the entire front, crossing the channel, France, then eventually spotting a green comet up ahead as he neared what was once the German border.

“So,” Jay said as Alan landed, “You're the ‘Green Lantern’.”

“Yes,” Alan responded, “And you must be The Scarlet Screwup.”

“That's ‘Crimson Comet’, asshole,” Jay retorted, looking across the border, “Berlin?”

“Berlin,” Alan confirmed, and the Flash and Green Lantern raced away to the heart of Nazi Germany.

They had reached Berlin with little to no sight of soldiers, and Flash became nervous. “Lantern!” He called, “Don't you think it's a little weird we haven't seen any Jerries yet?”

“I know,” Green Lantern called back, “I'm starting to think that this might be a--”

“Trap, Herr Lantern?” A new voice said, and Adolf Hitler himself stepped out into the street, his SS agents surrounding the area.

“Heil, Hitler!” They shouted, aiming for the heroes. 

“Guns?” Flash asked, laughing, “You're going to shoot someone who can move faster than bullets?”

“Even if he couldn't, I could just make a dome around us,” Lantern said, “You don't scare us, Herr Füher.”

“Ah, Herr Lantern, you may not fear me now,” Hitler laughed, holding up his fist, revealing his yellow ring, “you soon will!”

Green Lantern gasped as yellow light barreled into his chest, and Hitler gave off a spine-chilling oath: “In Blackest Day, in Brightest Night, Beware Your Fears Made into Light, Let Those Who Won't Accept What's Right, Burn By Its Power! The German Reich’s Might!” And Hitler was encompassed by the yellow light, and his uniform now bore the symbol of the ring, and the SS agents fired on the Flash.

Flash dismantled their weapons, and they fell apart in the agent’s hands. Green Lantern, who had been buried into a wall, sent out a construct of a locomotive, sending it steaming towards Hitler, who countered with a yellow shield. Flash ran in to attack Hitler, but a blur slammed into him, pushing him away.

“Who the Hell?” Flash groaned, getting up, and seeing… himself. But, he was wearing a black face mask.

“Just consider me your Rival, Flash.” The man cackled, his voice distorted, and the two went at it. They fought and ran throughout Berlin, slamming into each other as Hitler and Green Lantern fought in the sky.

Lantern and Hitler were throwing constructs at each other, green and yellow starting a war in the Berlin sky. Finally, they just blasted streams of light at each other, the struggle tipping in and out of favor. Finally, a beam shot off of Hitler’s ring, stabbing Green Lantern in the chest. Going into shock, Lantern dropped like a stone.

As Flash turned to help his friend, Rival took off his helmet and bashed the back of Flash’s head, knocking him out. “Heil Hitler,” he said, looking down on Jay as he drifted into unconsciousness.

 

June 15, 1940   
Washington, D.C.   
Prez. Franklin Roosevelt 

The President sighed as he opened a sealed telegram from Prime Minister Churchill. He read the message, 

WE HAVE LOST CONTACT WITH FLASH AND GREEN LANTERN STOP WE FEAR THEY HAVE BEEN CAPTURED STOP ACTIVATE THE JSA PROTOCOL IN FULL STOP

He looked up at the secret service agent who had brought him the telegram. “Agent Thunderson,” he said, “the time has come. The JSA Protocol is now in effect.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Johnny Thunderson said, and he turned on his heel and left the Oval Office.

Toms River, New Jersey   
Ted Grant  
Ted was finishing off a Cup-A-Soup when he heard a knock at his door. Grunting, he stood up and walked to the door. He looked through the peephole, cautious of who was there and saw a man in regular street clothes. “Who are you?” Ted asked.

“Cei-u.” The man said in response, and Ted was blown back by the door, slamming his head on the floor, and blacking out.

Badlands, South Dakota   
Blue Beetle

Dan laughed as he flew through the barren skies. “YAAHOOOO!!!” He cried, sweeping low and firing at the ground. 

Warning, his Scarab said, proximity alert. Unidentified object approaching from the Southeast.

“What?” Dan asked whirling around to face the direction Kahji Da had described and saw a bright purple flash coming straight towards him. “What the…?” And purple lightning slammed into him, freezing his suit and knocking him unconscious.

 

Albany, New York  
Hourman

As Hourman landed back in his lab, he saw that the door had been wrenched off. “No,” he breathed, racing in.

All the Miraclo was gone. “WHO DID THIS!!??” He shouted whirling around the lab.

“That, would be me,” said a voice, “and don't worry, your Miraclo isn't destroyed. I just packaged it.”

Hourman’s eyes fell on a man in a black hoodie, with blonde hair and a gold ring with the number 7 and a lightning bolt inscribed on it. 

“You're coming with me, see,” he said, and he held out his ring hand, “CEI-U!!!” And thunder flew from his fingertips and hit Hourman square in the chest.

Hourman merely stepped back, surprised, then he laughed. “Fool!” He cried, “No one can stop the Hourman!”

“What did you just say to me?” Yelled a voice, crackling with static and electricity, like one of those walkie-talkies that had in the army. A purple lightning bolt took the form of a man, with a purple tail rather than legs, and pressed his face close to Hourman’s.

“Um…” Rex stuttered, confused.

"Yeah, I thought so," it said, "Listen, Bub, the only reason you’re still standing is because I held back! I didn’t want to fry your tiny human brain. But if you think you can handle it, I’M HAPPY TO TURN UP THE VOLTAGE!!!"

“That’s enough, Yz,” the man said, “Mr. Tyler, my name is Special Agent John Thunderson, but anyone who knows what’s good for him calls me Johnny Thunderbolt. You and your Miraclo need to come with me, by order of the President of the United States of America. Though, I would prefer you unconscious.”

“The president?” Hourman started to ask, and Yz slammed into him, this time knocking him out.

 

 

Heidelberg, Germany   
The Sandman

 

Sirens wailed and women screamed as Sandman finished his work. A high-ranking Nazi officer had just been gassed to death in his own home by the elusive Sandman, who had been terrorizing the German countryside since 1919.

Wesley smiled, or at least, what passed as a smile under the mask. He started to cough and choke, out of the air, so he scrabbled to replace the antidote can on his mask, letting the empty can fall to the street cobbles. “Fuck, that hurt!” He said, clean air rushing into his lungs.

“Hey, language, pal!” Someone said.

“Ah, fuck you… wait, who--!” And Wesley passed out to a blast of purple.

 

Kilkenny, Ireland  
Dr. Charles “Midnite” McNider

“Paging Dr. McNider,” someone said. This confused McNider very much because he wasn’t in the office today, he was sitting in his study enjoying a cup of coffee. 

“Excuse me?” McNider said, getting up to walk over to his door, which promptly launched into him and knocked him out.

 

 

June 16, 1940   
???   
Wildcat

“Wakey, wakey, Wildcat,” someone said, and cold water was thrown over his head.

“Gahsp!!” Ted spluttered as he slammed his eyes open, “What the Hell!”

“Welcome to the Justice Society Protocol, Mr. Grant,” a man said, “I am truly sorry you had to be recruited in this way, but it was the fastest solution.”

“Who are--President Roosevelt?” Wildcat looked up at the wheelchair-ridden president.

“Yes, hello,” Roosevelt said, “Meet your new team, Wildcat.” 

Ted looked around, realizing he wasn't the only one in the room. He recognized several heroes he'd seen on the news, Hourman, Blue Beetle, soon. Then, he saw a different newsmonger, the terrorist known as the Sandman. “Are you kidding me?” He asked, “your little ‘Elite Squadron’ consists of a boxer, a small-time superhero, a bug-man, what I’m assuming is some sort of innocent bystander, and a terrorist!? That's your idea of a team?”

“Nice to meet you, too, buddy,” Sandman muttered.

“Actually, you have three more members, hopefully,” said the first voice, and Wildcat turned to see the man who had kidnapped him. 

“Oh, I'm sorry, a superhero, a bugman, a terrorist, a boxer, a random guy, and a kidnapper. Such a difference,” Ted scoffed.

“Oi!” a man to Wildcat’s left said in a thick Irish accent, “I ain’t just some ‘random guy’! The name’s Dr. Charles McNider, for yer information!”

“And my name’s Johnny Thunderbolt, bub,” Thunderbolt snapped, “and I can zap you into oblivion any time I want, so you better check yourself before I shove a lightning rod up your-”

“That's enough, Agent Thunderson,” Roosevelt said, and Johnny stepped back, still angry but suitably chastened. “Now then,” the president continued, “As Agent Thunderson said, this is your team. The eight of you are to fight for the Allies, doing the missions normal soldiers can't.”

“Hold on,” Sandman said, “Eight? Even counting Johnny Thunderbitch, I only come up with six.”

“That, Private Dodds, leads me into your mission brief,” Roosevelt said, ignoring the purple anger flaring in Johnny’s eyes, “Some of you might have heard about some extraordinary heroes on the European Front. Superhumans going by the names Flash and Green Lantern.”

“Flash and Green Lantern!?” Blue Beetle exclaimed, “They're practically legends!”

“They were put on a top-secret mission by Prime Minister Churchill, to infiltrate Berlin and gather information. We lost contact with them 10 days ago,” Roosevelt said, “That's where you all come in. Your mission is to infiltrate Berlin, recover Flash and Green Lantern, as well as a British operative by the name of Carter Hall, then return home. Am I understood?”

Hourman grunted, “So what you're saying is, you screwed up, so now you need us to pull your ass out of the fire.”

“In short and blunt, yes, that is the situation,” Roosevelt sighed.

“Right, you'll be issued code names for this mission,” Johnny said. “Rex Tyler, Hourman. Dan Garrett, Blue Beetle. Wesley Dodds, Sandman. Charles McNider, Dr. Midnite. Ted Grant, Wildcat, and I will be Thunderbolt. Wildcat will be field commander. Meet in the hangar in twenty minutes. In the meantime, get to know each other.”

With that, Roosevelt turned and wheeled out of the room. As the president left, Sandman called after him, “Hey, when do I get my gun back?”

“So…” Beetle said after a long pause, “My name’s Dan, I’m an archeologist from South Dakota, and I like long walks in the woods. Anybody else wanna share?”

“No,” said Ted.

“No,” said McNider.

“Any reason?” Dan asked.

“No,” said Ted.

“No,” said McNider.

“Well,” Sandman said sarcastically, “I can already tell this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He had no idea he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody! So, chapter 2 is up! I plan to do a big chapter dump this week, just the stuff I've had in reserve on Google Docs, so never expect updates this quick ever again. Ever. You will be severely disappointed. Anywho, the story! Hitler is a yellow lantern, the Rival is a thing, and poor poor Wildcat getting thrown into the middle of it all. So, as you may have guessed, Beetle is a total cinnamon bun and is the most childish in the group. Thunderbolt is a cranky government agent, Flash and Lantern get snarky with each other, Sandman is just an asshole, Hourman is a little too arrogant for his own good, Dr. Midnite is a stereotypical loud Irishman, and Wildcat's just kind of caught in the middle. Please, leave kudos and comments, and I'll get back to this ASAP. Thanks!


	3. No Training Wheels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly dubbed JSA spring into action to recover the MIA Flash and Green Lantern, who are being held in the stronghold of Fascism itself: Berlin. What they find in the heart of Nazi Germany tests their teamwork in fire, and shakes them all to the core...

Nazi-occupied Polish Airspace

Wildcat sighed as he pulled on his mask and strapped on the black helmet. He and his new team were sitting in the new experimental B-17 Flying Fortress, except this time, the Blackhawk Squadron wasn’t carting bombs over the border, they were carrying the newly-dubbed Justice Society of America.

“Still don’t know how I feel about that name,” Midnite grumbled, “I mean, not all of us are Americans!”

“Give it a rest, McWhiner,” Sandman sighed, leaning back against the wall of the plane, “there could be seventy Russians, Poles, and Luxembourgians on this team, and as long as there was one American the Capitalist Horse would gallop on!”

“That’s McNider, you terrorizing bastard, and I don’t quite appreciate your tone!” Midnite shot back, raising a revolver.

Beetle tried to calm them down while the rest backed up, as Sandman and Dr. Midnite pointed their guns at each other. They were quite literally saved by the bell as the tone signaling the loudspeaker came on. “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain, Kendra Sanders, speaking, so that she may inform your sorry asses that you have five minutes to drop zone,” a female voice said.

“Oh great, and a woman’s flying the plane!” Sandman yelled, jumping to his feet.

“Cool it off, Sandman! All of you, lock and load and prepare for drop!” Wildcat said, cocking a pistol.

“Why do you have a pistol?” Beetle asked.

“Do you really think I’m going into enemy territory with nothing but my fists?” Wildcat asked back, now hefting an assault rifle.

“No...no, I just thought—” he stammered.

“‘You just thought’ what?” Wildcat pressed, slinging the assault rifle over his shoulder.

“You know it, really doesn’t matter. Um...oh! Where are the parachutes?” Beetle returned, relieved to change the subject.

Wildcat smirked, “There are none. Not for us, anyway.”

The whole team stared at him. “Come again?” Midnite asked.

“Think about it,” Wildcat said, “this is the ultimate stealth mission. Which do you think the Jerries are more likely to believe? Four abandoned parachutes, or the foolish Americans dropping a dud bomb?”

“Well, obviously the dud,” Sandman said, “but what are we gonna do? Climb inside a bombshell?” Seeing Wildcat’s expression, he looked around, “Wait, really? We’re being that crazy?”

“Sort of. Beetle! That scarab of yours takes requests, right?” Wildcat barked.

“Um, if you have in mind what it thinks you have in mind, yes, yes it does,” the man sighed.

“Alright, then,” Wildcat said, “initiate Beetle Bomb.”

“I hate you.” Beetle said, then begrudgingly transformed into a blue bombshell, and the team climbed inside. 

The suit closed around them all, bracing them for a massive impact, and Kendra Sanders came over the loudspeaker again, “Dropping over Berlin in five… four… three… two… ONE!!” and the bay doors opened with a clunk! and Khaji Da dropped like a stone. They fell for about three minutes, Sandman cursing all the while, and finally hit the ground with an almighty WHAM! 

“GRANT!!” Sandman yelled as Beetle’s suit started releasing them, “I swear to whatever God you believe in, I WILL KILL YOU if we EVER, do that AGAIN!”

“Uhhg… I’ll gladly let you,” Wildcat groaned, “Now come on, we have to move before they drop the actual dud,” They all hightailed away from the crater, and soon afterward, another impact shook the ground, and an empty shell lay there, and a bewildered German soldier slowly stepped out of the restaurant he’d been hiding in, looking at the new bomb in the backyard.

As the JSA stopped to catch their breath behind a different building, and Wildcat pulled out a map. “Okay, everyone. Here’s where we are,” he pointed to a spot on the west side of the map, “Intel says Flash and Lantern are being held in this building. Carter Hall should be held in the same area, but we’re not sure exactly where he is. Stick close, maintain radio silence.” The rest nodded at him, and Wildcat crept down the alleyways of Berlin, the JSA following close behind. 

When they came to the steps of the building, they hid behind one of the massive marble handrails, and Wildcat peeked around the corner. “Two guards,” he muttered, “Base of the stairs. Two more at the top. Unknown if any are on the roof.”

“There are,” Midnite responded, peering at the lip of the roof, “Two as well, I reckon. Maybe two more on the other side of the building.”

“What are we supposed to do about them?” Thunderbolt asked.

“I could fly up there and blast them,” Beetle said, his right hand transforming into a cannon.

Wildcat thought for a moment. Midnite’s guns would make too much noise, so he couldn’t step out and shoot them from the ground. Beetle could take them out silently, but the guards on the other side of the building might notice. They’d have to take out all the guards at once. “Hourman, Thunderbolt, go to the back entrance. Thunderbolt will take care of the ground level guards, Hourman will take the ones on the roof. Beetle, You take the roof guards here. Midnite, you and I will take out the soldiers at the bottom of the stairs. Sandman, take the ones near the doors. Quietly.” They all stared at him. “What?” Wildcat asked.

“Nothing, just, wasn’t expecting it to make so much… sense,” responded Sandman.

“Why’s that?” Wildcat retorted, slightly offended.

“You dress up in a catsuit to punch people in the face for a living,” Sandman responded flatly.

Wildcat conceded the point, then refocused. “Go.” Hourman and Thunderbolt crept down the walls of the building, while Blue Beetle splayed his wings and flew to just below the guard’s line of sight. Sandman readied himself to jump the wall, and Midnite tensed as he waited for the signal. Wildcat pressed the button on his walkie talkie, then released it, and sprang into action. He slammed the first guard into the steps, then leaped toward the second while Midnite knocked out the first one. Beetle blasted two guards off the roof, then turned to see Hourman slamming his two guards’ heads together, and a series of hot purple flashes. Sandman hopped the rail and gassed his two guards, who fainted with little more than a soft groan.

They dragged and bound all the soldiers in the alley, then infiltrated the building. They were able to dispatch any poor souls who happened across them, and Wildcat dragged a German scientist to his feet to question him. “English, motherfucker, do you speak it!?” he growled in a low voice.

“Da…” the quivering man whispered, “Some…”

“Where are you keeping Flash and Green Lantern?” Wildcat asked.

The scientist took a fearful glance at Sandman, murmuring “Das Sandmann…” Wildcat shook him by the collar.

“Flash and Green Lantern!” he pressed, “Or I hand you over to Das Sandmann!” Sandman assisted by chuckling darkly behind the gas mask. 

“Basement!” the scientist cried, “Flash unt Lantern in basement! Bitte nicht Sandmann!!” 

“Beetle, look for the basement,” Wildcat said, then punched out the scientist.

“Affirmative,” Beetle said, “The suit’s reading positive life signatures below us. I think. This way!” 

They followed Beetle to a blast door, Sandman took care of the soldiers guarding it, and Hourman knocked it down. They went down winding bare stone steps, lowering themselves beneath Berlin.

Wildcat held up a hand to stop the rest of them, narrowing his eyes at the shadows in the stream of light that had appeared around the corner. He inclined his head to listen.

“We must find out what constitutes his speed,” a distorted voice said, “I must perfect Velocity 9.”

“Patience, Herr Rival,” a German accent responded, “We have made such significant progress in such a short time!”

“Herr Wissenschaftler! Herr Rival! We have found something!” a new voice said, “Something in the Flash’s genetic makeup allows him to reach such incredible speed, something normal humans do not possess. A sort of… metagene.”

“Metagene…?” Rival pondered, “We must isolate it. Activate the machine!”

“Turn on that machine and I’ll kill you!!” shouted a British accent.

“No…” a weak, American accent pleaded, and Wildcat’s eyes widened as he saw the light brighten, and heard the unholy scream of Jay Garrick, the Flash, being tortured by the Nazis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO, SO SORRY!! NOTHING WILL EVER COMPARE TO HOW SORRY I AM! MY LIFE IS BUSY! And sadly, I can't say it won't happen again either, because this is just how my life is...
> 
> On to the chapter! I apologize for the shortness of it, but drama and all that. While I am sorry about the length, I am not sorry about Jay... MUWHAHAHAHA!!! Seriously kids, don't try to take magical space rings from crazed fascist dictators. It never ends well.


	4. The Big Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation in Berlin boils over, and the JSA finds itself fighting for survival in the belly of the beast. While Hitler remains absent, the JSA must test themselves against the mysterious masked man known only as... The Rival!

Beneath Berlin, in a Secret Nazi Laboratory

Wildcat stepped out into the corridor, leveling his rifle, and fired at the scientists. Jay was writhing in pain, strapped to a table, a massive machine behind him pumping electricity into his body. A small distance away lay a furious Alan Scott, also strapped down, and over him stood the mysterious Rival. “Stand down, Wildcat,” Rival warned, holding a pistol over Scott’s head, “Or the Lantern gets it.”

Wildcat stopped firing, and after a moment of looking around, finally dropped his gun. “Good kitty,” Rival said, “Now why don’t you tell me why the Allies sent a normal man to extract their two superhumans?”

Wildcat smiled. “Who said I was the only one?” Hourman and Blue Beetle flew around the corner, crashing into the Rival, while Doctor Midnite, Sandman, and Wildcat took out the scientists. Rival struck out against Hourman, who was a little too slow to dodge.

“You’re fast, Hourman,” Rival gloated, “But you’ll never be as fast as lightning!”

Hourman flew at him, only for Rival to dodge easily, sidestepping out of the way. Beetle fired his cannons, but Rival ducked and slammed his shoulder into Beetle, knocking him through the back wall. While he was distracted, Hourman slammed into the unsuspecting Rival, who soon followed Beetle through the wall.

Wildcat ran over to the table holding Alan Scott, and started on the thick leather straps. “Are you alright?” he asked quickly.

“Yes, I’m fine, I just need my ring,” Alan returned, “But Jay… I can only imagine.”

“Where’s your ring?” Wildcat asked, finally getting his comrade free.

“Give me a moment,” Alan responded, getting up and holding out his left hand. “In Brightest Day,” he started, “In Blackest Night, no evil shall escape my sight! Let those who worship Evil’s might, BEWARE MY POWER! GREEN LANTERN’S LIGHT!!” and a small dart of green flew down through the ceiling and attached itself to Alan’s outstretched hand, and his costume appeared around him. At this point, soldiers were storming down the stairs, which Lantern quickly blocked with a construct wall, and Sandman moved to free Jay Garrick.

“You alright, pal?” he asked gruffly, struggling with the straps.

“I’m alright,” Jay said weakly, “Just a little bruised, is all.”

Sandman raised an eyebrow behind the mask, “You were just electrocuted.”

Jay chuckled, “I do feel a little tingly.”

“Tingly?” Sandman said, “After being tortured by the Nazis, all you’ve got to say is ‘tingly’?”

Jay massaged his now free wrist as he sat up, “Room service needs some work, but overall, it was a nice stay.”

“Where’s your hat, smartass?” Sandman asked.

“It’s not a ‘hat’,” Jay grumbled, “It’s the Helm of Mercury.”

“Where is your hat?” Sandman repeated.

“Over there,” Jay said, running to retrieve his helmet. Even at super speed, Sandman noticed the wobbly nature in the Flash's steps, and caught the swiftest glance at a wavering smile. Jay was not as "okay" as he was letting on. Sandman knew a thing or two about hiding emotions.

Meanwhile, Rival had recovered from his blow from Hourman and was now handing the good doctor his ass. Whenever Hourman swung, Rival dodged and counterstruck. Midnite, Lantern, and Wildcat were forcing their way back up the stairs, tearing through the Nazi soldiers to provide the team with an exit.

Just then, there was a mighty clap of thunder, and Yz the Living Thunderbolt joined the battle against the Rival. Rival was sent spiraling into the back wall by Yz, who’d barrelled into him by order of Johnny. Rival began to stand, facing down Yz. “Finally,” he coughed, “A worthy opponent!” Rival sped away.

“Yz, after him!” Johnny shouted, and the Living Thunderbolt zapped after the Rival, leaving a faint trail of purple sparks in his wake.

Yz found Rival in a city square, simply waiting. “So you’re Yz the Living Thunderbolt,” Rival cackled in his distorted, vibrating voice, “Per Degaton told me you would come.”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, boy,” Yz warned, his power crackling around him, a storm forming in the Berlin sky.

“Oh, contraire, I think I do,” Rival responded, taking a few steps forward, “You’re not like those fools Roosevelt and Churchill put together. They’re a ragtag band of idiots and misguided patriots. But you, you’re far above that, aren’t you, Yz? You’re a force of nature. Or, perhaps more accurately, you are connected to a force of nature. One that I wish to harness. So come, Yz, show me this Speed Force!”

“You want the Speed Force?” Yz asked, “Fine then. Take it!” Yz gathered his power, and a massive storm formed above Berlin. Rival broke into a cold sweat as he smelled ozone. “You should’ve watched your mouth,” Yz said dangerously, “For I am Yz, the Living Thunderbolt, sealed across seven planes of existence to seven men born on the seventh minute of the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year. Yz, the Great and Powerful Genie. Upon a wish, I am able to call on some of my power from a different existence, and as you have wished to see my power, the power of the Speed Force, the power of the Living Lightning, well, Edward Clariss. Who am I to refuse such a wish?”

Thousands of lightning bolts struck the square, leaving Rival to dodge desperately. Rival ran as fast as he could, but the lightning was too fast. He couldn't maneuver around the bolts as they struck, and Rival screamed as Yz hit him. Rival stumbled and rolled to a stop, and Yz swished his arms through the air, converging the lightning on Rival. Rival started glowing, white-hot as he screamed and screamed. His face mask melted away, burning his face, and finally, Yz stopped. 

Rival knelt on all fours, writhing in pain, and Yz stood over him, glowering. Then, a sonic boom could be heard as Jay Garrick arrived on the scene. “What happened?” Jay asked, staring in horror at his enemy.

“He asked for it,” Yz responded coldly. Rival’s head snapped up, and his eyes glowed as they set on Jay. Rival appeared in front of Jay at speeds he couldn’t comprehend, and slammed his fist into Jay’s chest, and the Flash felt a jolt of electricity as he was sent flying. 

As he struggled up, Rival disappeared in a flash of lightning, screaming maniacally. “Wh-what-?” Jay stammered, and Yz appeared next to him.

“The Rival has connected you to a force of nature far beyond your understanding, Jay Garrick,” the genie said dangerously, “I strongly suggest you do not trifle with it.”

Jay shivered as Yz disappeared, returning to Johnny’s side, and stared back at the wisp of smoke in the place where the Rival once stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm putting out as much material as I can tonight, so I can make up for the long silence before, and the long silence sure to follow. To the chapter! So yeah, Yz is a badass. He's an omnidimensional being, after all, he's bound to have some power behind him. I'm really excited about Wildcat's character, and he has a cool arc coming up that I think you'll enjoy... (*coughs* Themyscira *coughs*)


	5. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victorious, the JSA returns to Britain, and they're rewarded for their heroics. Every man on the team is shocked, but pleasantly surprised. They could get used to this...
> 
>  
> 
> ... but that's not all, is it?

June 16, 1940  
Over the English Channel  
Wildcat

Green Lantern had already recovered Carter Hall. The man had been in a neighboring compound, which with the newly combined forces of himself, Blue Beetle, and Hourman, Lantern had torn through with ease. Flash had returned shortly after Yz, refusing to say anything other than that Rival was dead. Now, The entire team was safely on their way back to the Front, transported by a bubble construct provided by Lantern. “So, Mr. Hall,” Wildcat started, “What were you doing in Berlin?”

Carter looked at him, “Classified, I’m afraid.”

“Have anything to do with ‘The Reich’s Might’?” Jay asked from his spot along the wall, helmet cocked lazily on his head.

Carter gave a short bark of a laugh, “I wish. No, the Reich’s Might was solely your mission, Mr. Garrick. I was looking into something much more… volatile.”

“More volatile than a yellow ring with the same abilities as Alan’s green one?” Jay asked.

“Christ,” Midnite breathed, shaking his head, “How crazy has this world gotten? Magical rings, lightning people, flying without planes!”

“Tell me about it,” Sandman chuckled, sliding down the wall of the bubble to a seated position.

Wildcat started to relax more and more as they got closer and closer to Britain. Finally, Lantern landed, and the bubble retracted. Wildcat gasped as he stepped off the platform. There was a sea of people, all the people of London. On a small platform of scaffolding, King George VI himself stood, in the middle of a cracked, broken, and cratered street, alongside Winston Churchill, and First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. “Welcome home, JSA,” the king called, “And thank you.” The people cheered, and music was being played. Wildcat and his team walked forward tentatively.

“Come now, come now!” Churchill said exasperatedly, “come forward!”

Eleanor handed the king a small medal, and the king turned. “Wildcat, come forward.”

Wildcat slowly stepped up the stairs, facing the king. His Majesty smiled at him, holding out a small silver star. “Theodore Grant. The Wildcat. For your bravery and service, the United States’ own Medal of Honor.” Wildcat’s eyes widened as the medal was placed on his shoulders, then numbly stepped back.

“Alan Scott,” the King continued, “The Green Lantern. For your valor in the face of the enemy, the Victoria Cross. Jay Garrick, the Flash, for your fearlessness in the belly of the beast, the Medal of Honor. Dr. Charles McNider, Doctor Midnite, for your quick thinking and mastery of the situation, the Victoria Cross. Pvt. Wesley Dodds, the Sandman, for your continued service and employment of… unorthodox methods, the Medal of Honor. Dr. Rex Tyler, the Hourman, for your skill and power, the Medal of Honor. Dr. Daniel Garrett, the Blue Beetle, for your valor and courage, the Medal of Honor. Jonathan Thunderman, Yz the Living Thunderbolt, for your great service to your nation and her allies in this war, and the fall of the Nazi leftenant only known as the Rival, the Medal of Honor.” Yz appeared beside Johnny as the medal was placed on his shoulders, and he took his place beside the others.

The King stepped back as Churchill stepped forward. “People of Britain,” he started, “The men before you have journeyed into the heart of Nazi Germany. They have stared the enemy in the face, and lived to tell the tale. They are the best of the best. The creme de la creme. The elite few, handpicked by the American President Roosevelt and myself. People, these are your champions. The Justice Society!”

Wildcat couldn’t help but blush under his cowl as the citizens of London cheered him on. Him, a lonely boxer from Jersey, an international hero. He glanced at his new teammates, almost laughing when he saw Beetle shuffle his feet. He could get used to this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 12, 2018  
South Gotham Gym, Gotham  
Ted Grant

Ted grunted as he worked the sandbag, punching, weaving, and finishing by slamming into it so hard the sandbag broke from its chain, thumping to the ground. Ted sighed as he recovered his breath. He wasn’t as spry as he used to be, but he could still keep up with his workout. 

A small click sounded throughout the empty gym. Ted straightened, then rolled to the side as pistol fire unloaded on him. Wildcat ran to the locker room, his office, and kicked open the locked drawer that held an old pistol from his war days. He loaded it, then flipped over his desk and crouched as his attacker appeared in the doorway. Pistol fire tore through the desk, and Wildcat gained a new splinter as he raised his arm to return fire. The other man dodged, it was a man, Wildcat realized, rolling out of the doorway and below the small office’s window. “You picked the wrong old man to kill, kid!” Wildcat called into No Man’s Land.

A distorted laugh met his comment. A voice filter. “Oh, contraire, I think I found exactly who I’m looking for!”

Wildcat crept up to the window, then leaped through it, tackling his attacker. With a startled yell, the other man was on the ground, his arms and legs held in place by Wildcat’s own original hold. Patented 1983. “Who are you, what do you want?” Ted asked dangerously.

“I want to get up first,” the man returned.

“Drop the two guns and six explosives hidden in your jacket, and we’ll call it a deal,” Ted responded.

Another short laugh, “You are good. Deal.” Ted let free one arm, which then reached into the jacket, scattering the aforementioned items on the floor of the locker room. Ted let him up, and got a good look at him for the first time. He was young, mid-twenties maybe, with a muscular yet lean build. He was wearing gunmetal grey kevlar beneath a light tan leather jacket, combat boots, and four holsters, one on either thigh and two crossed at the small of his back. The outfit was completed by a large red helmet that hid his face, two eyes in the same style of a whiteout mask. “There’s no doubt about it,” he said in that helmet-distorted voice, “You’re the real deal. You’re Wildcat.”

“No one’s called me that in a long time, kid,” Ted responded, leveling his old gun, “Now start talking.”

That same barking laugh. “Call me Red Hood. I’m here because word on the street is you were one of the ones to train the big bad Batman.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” Ted returned.

“My point is,” Red Hood continued, “I want the same treatment.”

Ted’s pistol lowered a little bit in surprise. “Why?”

“Because,” Red Hood said, taking off his helmet, revealing a mop of black hair with a single lock of stark white, and a red domino mask, “I need to be able to do what he can’t.”

“Which is?” Ted pressed.

“Kill the Joker.” Red Hood responded simply.

Ted stared down the younger man. He saw hurt, and pain from events from the not too distant past. But he also saw conviction. It was almost the exact same look he’d had at a young orphan named Bruce Wayne. “You realize I’ll work you till you’re nothing less than perfect?” he found himself saying.

Hood smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Good,” Ted said, lowering the gun. “Work the bag.”

“Wh-what?” Hood asked incredulously.

“I need to gauge what level you’re on,” Ted said, “Now work the bag.”

Hood sighed frustratedly and went over to the sandbag, hanging it up again and starting to punch. Ted nodded as he saw what he was working with. And he liked what he saw there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!


	6. A Fateful Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carter Hall is back, and is traipsing the dusty deserts of Egypt alone. He seems shaken by his last assignment, a mysterious island in the Atlantic that hadn't yet been charted. What on Earth could he be looking for...?

November 20, 1941  
Giza, Egypt  
Carter Hall

MI6 agent Carter Hall stepped quietly through the sands of Giza. He’d left the city proper to investigate the ancient pyramids, and now he was standing on the steps of the Pyramid of Khufu, the tallest of the three. Carter drew back his hood, then began to search the ancient structure. Soon, he found an ankh. the Egyptian symbol for life, and order. It was the only hieroglyph on the outside of the pyramid, sitting alone on a brick in the middle of the pyramid. No special placement, no significance. But it was the only one. Thinking he had found what he was looking for, he pressed the ankh with his hand. Nothing. Sighing, Carter slowly drew out the mace he’d found on Black Hawk Island, and held it to the ankh. The ankh glowed, and the mace crackled with electricity, and golden light blinded Carter’s eyes. When he dared to open them, he felt the unfamiliar feeling of the wings, the scratch of the chest harness, and the weight of the hawk’s head helmet. And, of course, the damned feeling like he was forgetting something. He saw a doorway open in the pyramid, a six-foot-tall rectangular hole in the middle of the Great Pyramid of Giza. “Who dares disturb me?” a booming, echoing voice asked, and Carter laid eyes on a man in golden armor, the ankh shining brightly on his chest, a golden cape trailing behind him, and a glowing gold helmet.

“I, Carter Hall,” Carter said boldly, “I seek the wizard Nabu!”

The man gave a chuckling, condescending laugh. “Nabu is dead. Kent Nelson is dead. Such was their Fate.”

Carter stared at him. “Were you the one to kill them?”

The helmet’s white, pupilless eyes stared into Carter. “Aye,” he said, “For I am Fate.”

Carter stared him down. “What do you want?” he said finally.

Fate looked at him. “Order.” Then, Carter was sent flying by a beam of light, shaped like an ankh, blasted from Fate’s hands. Carter steadied himself in the air, still getting used to his wings, and drew his mace. Then, he remembered. He remembered that thing he’d been trying to remember since he gained these weapons, these abilities on Black Hawk Island, when he’d first gained that nagging feeling. He remembered what he had to prevent. It was so much, so many memories flooding in, from so many different lifetimes, he couldn’t handle it all. Carter retreated into his own mind, trying to find out. To sort everything. To find Hawkman.

Fate watched as Carter Hall, Hawkman, fell from the sky, in a catatonic state from the mental overload he had just received. “What just happened?” Kent Nelson asked from the world inside the Helm of Fate.

“Carter Hall is remembering. He will be like this for a short while. Seventeen of your days, to be exact.” 

“We have to help him, we can’t just leave him in the desert,” Kent said.

Nabu mused inside the Helm. “Where do you propose we take him?”

“To a hospital,” Kent said, “He sounded British. We should probably take him to a British hospital. Egypt’s are too detached.”

“Very Well, Kent Nelson. We shall take Carter Hall to a British Hospital, as you have suggested.”

“Wait!” Kent shouted, “We can’t take him to Britain as Fate. The people will panic. I need to bring him. As Kent Nelson.”

Kent could feel Nabu’s discomfort, and his suppressed anger. Nabu knew there was truth to what Kent was saying, and if there was anything that Nabu abhorred, it was chaos.

“Fine. I shall teleport us to Britain, then remove the helm.”

Kent sighed a sigh of relief as Fate knelt to pick up Carter’s limp body, then stepped through the ankh-shaped portal to Britain, where he then laid Carter gently on the ground, and finally, after long last, removed the Helm of Fate. Kent felt his body again, his actual body, and stared down at the Helm of Fate in his hands. “Thank you,” he said to it, though he wasn’t quite sure if Nabu could hear him, the Helm now cold and lifeless. Kent looked down at his clothes. Fate had left him with a plain overcoat, brown pinstripe pants, and a white button-down underneath a brown suit jacket. He stowed the helm in a brown satchel, also provided by Fate, and picked Carter up, slinging the other man’s arm over his shoulders. “Well, then, Mr. Hall,” Kent said as he trudged into the broken streets, “Let’s find you a place to rest.” 

Kent was appalled by the condition of London, and it was London, he could tell, but there were craters in the streets, holes in buildings, families in the cold. It looked like a warzone. Kent hated to say it, but he looked downright normal, dragging a man with wings around with him. Finally, Kent arrived at a hospital, which seemed to be in decent shape. “Hello?” he called as he dragged Carter through the door, “Is anyone--here.” Kent caught his breath as he stared out into the sea of people taking shelter in the lobby, young and old, man and woman, parent and child. All of them, every single one, were thin, gaunt, and ashen. 

“What were you doing outside, you idiot!?” a nurse shouted at him, wading through the sea of people, “You could have been hit by a bomb!”

“A… bomb?” Kent repeated, trying to process what he had just heard.

“Yes, yes, a bomb!” she said exasperatedly, “Just like all the other ones the Germans have been dropping for the past three hours. Bloody Americans!”

Bombs. Germans. London in ruins. It all made sense now. There was a war on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this Season 2 of The Good Old Days! Woohoo! This one is short, even by my standards, but it's just a prologue, so don't worry too much. And for any of you who know your history, you might want to keep an eye on the date. A certain infamous day is coming up...


	7. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent Nelson grows into his own as a hero while Wildcat is confronted by a new sinister figure...

November 20, 1940  
London, England  
Kent Nelson

 

Kent stood there in shock as an air raid alarm blared through the empty streets of London. The people in the lobby instinctively huddled closer together, and his jaw clenched. These people were afraid, they were huddling for shelter in their home city because invading Germans were destroying it. “Nurse!” he called, “Take care of this man, he’s fallen unconscious!” The nurse nodded as she took Carter from him, turning a shade of green when she noticed the wings.

Kent turned on his heel, reaching into his satchel for the Helm. “Wait, stop!” someone called after him, “Don’t you know what an air raid alarm is!?”

“I’m well aware, sir,” Kent said calmly, removing the golden helmet from his bag, “That’s why I brought a helmet.” He exited the hospital and heard the approaching buzz of bomber planes. He donned the Helm of Fate, and rose into the sky, golden light glowing around him. His armor shone, and his cape blew in the wind. The approaching German planes looked like an angry swarm of enormous bees, getting louder and closer by the minute.

“Why have you summoned me, Kent Nelson?” Nabu asked inside the Helm.

“London is in danger,” Kent explained, “If the Germans prevail, chaos will reign in Europe.”

“Hmmm,” Nabu pondered, “And what do you suggest Fate do?”

“Defend London,” Kent responded, “And destroy the invading force while we’re at it, if at all possible.”

“This, Fate can do,” Nabu declared, and their minds unified. The planes were almost upon them now, there were about twenty of them, on level with Fate.

Fate opened a massive ankh portal over London as the Luftwaffe released their payloads, and the bombs disappeared without impacting. A second ankh opened up above the planes, and the bombs fell on to their own planes, the wreckage crashing down into the first ankh, and Fate closed his hands, the ankhs mimicking his actions until they closed in on each other and disappeared. 

Below him, there was a patter of a few uncertain steps, then cheers erupted from London. Fate turned as he lowered himself from the sky. “Thank you! Thank you!” a Londoner cried, “What do we call you?”

“Don’t say Fate!” Kent cried immediately inside the helmet.

“Why?” Nabu responded.

“These people have been scared for weeks, they need a calming presence,” Kent explained, “Not the looming reminder of Man’s mortality. They need someone that can make them feel better, like a doctor! That’s it! Take the name Doctor!”

“Very well,” Nabu acquiesced. 

“I am Doctor Fate,” Fate proclaimed.

Kent facepalmed in exasperation. “It’ll have to do,” he sighed.

The citizens of London cheered, and Doctor Fate opened an ankh to his right, floating through it and disappearing.

 

{December 1, 1941}  
{JSA Forward Base, France}  
{Wildcat}

Wildcat sighed as he sat down heavily in a chair, pulling his cowl back. The JSA had been dispatched to cut Nazi supply lines in France, buy Britain some time as the colonies mobilized. Finally, they were able to rest in the small camp they’d set up near Dunkirk. He poured himself a cup of water and made sure his gun was unloaded. He would’ve served in the first war, but he’d been too young, and by the time he was old enough to enlist, it was over. He used to imagine life as a soldier, huddled in the trenches, mowing down the Kaiser’s men with nothing but a Maxim gun. He smiled bitterly to himself. Some dream.

A bright light shone in the doorway behind him. Wildcat tensed, then turned around while pulling up his cowl in one fluid motion. He spun into a fighting stance, facing down the man in front of him. He was tall and muscular, and wore an angular, black uniform. His hair was blonde, and he looked to be in his mid-thirties. On his belt, a red D glinted in the dim light. Most noteworthy, however, was the glowing blue portal behind him.

“Who are you?” Wildcat asked, hoping his voice didn’t betray him, “And what do you want?”

“Me?” the stranger asked, “Well, that’s not important quite yet. All you need to know is that it is very important to me for the Axis to win this war. And if you remain on the battlefield, that will not happen.”

Wildcat grit his teeth. He’d seen plenty of crazy stuff in his new life, most of them directly correlated to his new comrades. This, though, this felt different. This was more… sinister. More volatile. It wasn’t the whimsical fantasia that he saw in Beetle and Flash, this man was extremely powerful and extremely dangerous. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I find that I must repeat myself,” Wildcat asserted, “Who are you?”

“Very well,” the stranger sighed, “I suppose if you insist. You may call me Per Degaton. As for your previous question, I want you to exit the battlefield.”

“Not gonna happen, pal,” Wildcat swung at him, and his blow connected. But it did nothing. Punching Degaton was like punching a brick wall. Wildcat sprang back panickedly as Degaton laughed.

“Feeling obsolete, Wildcat?” Degaton chuckled, his perfect posture unshaken, his hands calmly folded behind his back.

Wildcat somersaulted away, snatching up his gun, taking the clip from the table beside him, loading it and firing. The bullet hit Per Degaton square in the head, but there was a little flash of blue light and the bullet fell harmlessly to the floor. “Wh-what are you?” Wildcat asked, trembling against his will. 

Per Degaton grinned maleficently, “I am the future, Wildcat. And you? You are a thing of the past.” Suddenly, Degaton sprang forward, his red-gloved hand outstretched, giving Wildcat little time to dodge to the right. Degaton slid to a halt, his gaze turning to the black-clad hero. Degaton’s form shimmered, and Wildcat felt a rough hand grab the back of his throat as the Degaton in front of him disappeared, and the Degaton that had grabbed him from behind smiled. “I must say,” he said to Wildcat, “You did better than I thought you would. Not many evade my grasp, especially not many normal men. In fact, the only one in recent memory was that pesky charlatan Booster Gold. But, for this to work, I’m afraid you must be taken off the board, at least until Pearl Harbor is destroyed.” Another blue portal opened to his right, and Degaton flung Wildcat through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, wherever could Wildcat be!? I have a feeling a lot of you already know, but just humor me a bit.


	8. Themyscira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wildcat finds himself a stranger in a strange land as he wakes up on the shores of whatever Godforsaken rock Degaton had flung him to...

{December 2, 1941}  
{???}  
{Wildcat}

Wildcat hit the sand hard. It was warm, much warmer than the dreary battlefields of Vichy France. He sat up groggily and looked around. The portal had disappeared, and he was on a white beach flanked by massive cliffs on either side. There was a forest going inland, the ocean on the other side of the beach. He stuck his hand into the water, and it came back warm. He remembered what Degaton had said. Until Pearl Harbor was destroyed. Pearl Harbor was the Naval base in Hawaii. It housed the entire Pacific Fleet. If it were destroyed… it would cripple the US. Degaton was dragging the US into the war, and he was making sure they started off with a handicap. Wildcat shot up into a standing position. He needed to get to Washington. Or at the very least, London. Or, if he was too late, to Hawaii, to defend Pearl Harbor. 

He obviously wasn’t getting anywhere sitting by the ocean, so he turned inland. Wildcat walked through the forest and studied the style of the trees around him. He was no scientist, but he’d half-listened to Rex’s ramblings on missions observing the local wildlife. He didn’t remember and probably couldn’t pronounce the actual Latin name, but he could discern that these trees were suited to a warmer climate, and had no business being in northwestern France. So either Degaton was a terrible botanist, or he’d been sent to an entirely different part of the planet. Probably that last one. He came across a stream, and after judging that it was fresh water and safe enough to drink, pulled back his cowl and took a long gulp. He never did get to finish that cup of water. He wondered if his team had discovered his absence yet, and how they were fairing without him. He hoped Sandman hadn’t punched anyone yet. Wildcat stopped as he heard a tree rustle to his left. To anyone else, they would have assumed this to be the wind, but Wildcat had been on the fields of war. He knew what the wind sounded like, and he knew what people sounded like, and that definitely wasn’t the wind. “Whoever you are, you might as well show yourself,” he called into the forest. All around him, women with bronze armor emerged from the foliage, spears leveled and bows drawn.

“A man?” one of them whispered, “Here?”

“He is either very brave,” another responded, “Or very stupid.”

Wildcat noticed that they spoke with an accent that was vaguely Mediterranean. Was that where he was? A black-haired woman that wore a simple silver tiara and looked like the leader of the group stepped forward, “Who are you, and how have you arrived here?”

Wildcat looked into her eyes, “My name is Ted Grant, and I was fighting a man with powers far behind my own. He sent me here.”

“Man’s World has discovered sorcery!?” one of the warrior women hissed in a panicked whisper.

“This could be the end of Themyscira,” another agreed gravely.

“Enough!” the leader said forcefully, planting the butt of her spear into the riverbank, “Very well, Ted Grant. You will be taken to Queen Otrera and judged, to discern whether or not you have been truthful. Restrain him!”

One woman stepped forward with a length of twine and bound Wildcat’s wrists behind his back. Then, he was brought roughly to his feet and set to march down a dirt trail that probably lead out of the forest. The warrior women lined up behind and in front of him, with two of them on either side of him. He felt one of them shove them, and he took that as the signal to start walking. 

“Man’s World dresses quite… peculiarly, wouldn’t you say?” one warrior said, observing the black suit Wildcat was wearing.

“This is a special uniform,” Wildcat explained, “Most people just wear pants and shirts.”

“A special uniform?” a warrior repeated, “Are you a warrior in Man’s World, Ted Grant?”

“In these times, it’s hard to find someone who isn’t,” Wildcat sighed, “But yes, I’m generally considered a warrior. Before I was drafted, I was a boxer.”

“Drafted?” one asked.

“Boxer?” asked another.

“These are foreign words to us,” the leader explained, “Explain them to us.”

Wildcat’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, then he nodded in compliance. “Drafted as in, I was conscripted to serve in the military. I didn’t volunteer. And a boxer is someone who fights in a ring, for entertainment. I actually won the heavyweight championship back in ‘38.”

“Ah, you mean a gladiator!” One of his escorts said triumphantly, recognition flaring in her eyes, “You are a warrior!”

“Sort of,” Wildcat said, “We weren’t given any weapons. We just fought with our fists, though we had special gloves.”

A few of them nodded respectfully. Obviously a warrior culture. Judging from their bronze skin and archaic weaponry, he assumed they might be Indians. He’d heard the stories of his grandfathers fighting the Indians in the Great Plains, how they rode horses and used bows and arrows. He’d never heard of Indians with bronze armor, though. The leader turned to him, curiosity in her eyes, “You said you didn’t volunteer for the military,” she said, “And you mentioned it was hard to find anyone who wasn’t a soldier ‘in these times’. Is there a war going on, in Man’s World?”

Wildcat stopped walking and stared at her. “You mean you don’t know?” he asked, absolutely shocked. Surely even the Indians had heard of the war?

His two guards leveled their spears at him, while the others traded uncomfortable looks. “Almost no news of Man’s World reaches here,” the leader finally said, though she sounded less sure of herself.

“So, Ted Grant?” a warrior asked, “Is there a war?”

Wildcat choked back a hard lump in the back of his throat. “Yes,” he finally managed, “It’s horrible. Every day, more and more people die fighting in the mud. Germany is on the warpath, and the only thing stopping them from taking over all of Europe is the British, who are currently running out of supplies, morale, and support. I’ve just learned that the only hope of relief we’ve had, the United States of America, is about to be critically attacked, in a way they might never recover from. It’s a fight for the fate of the world, and we’re losing.”

Their leader looked at him strangely. Some of her warriors had pure disdain in their eyes, others pity, but their leader held a look that almost conveyed… sympathy. “That is indeed quite the war, Ted Grant,” she said finally, carefully keeping her voice neutral, “Come. Otrera is waiting.”

The marching resumed. Wildcat started to see light filtering through the trees, and as the treeline broke, his eyes widened as he caught sight of a beautiful marble city. It was nestled up on the top of a sheer cliff, another, smaller cliff rising above the city with a massive capital that looked like an old Greek temple. In fact, the more he looked at it, the more Wildcat realized he was looking at an ancient Greek city-state. The city was a sprawling mess of shops and homes, a few terraced farms cut into the mountainside. In the streets, thousands of women were selling fish, grain, walking pets or greeting one another as their young daughters clung to their legs. A military garrison lay to the east, a clear field atop the mountain, and Wildcat heard the clang of bronze upon bronze as the trainees were drilled. He didn’t see a single man in the entire city. “What is this place?” he asked in wonder, his head on a swivel as he tried to take it all in.

“Welcome to Themyscira, Ted Grant,” the leader said, gesturing broadly with her spear, “The Home of the Amazons.”

“It’s beautiful…” he said in awe. So these women were Amazons. The Greek theme, the bronze armor, the lack of men, it all made sense now. He was led through the streets of Themyscira, and hundreds of women and girls lined up along the road, all of them trying to get a look at the first man to enter their home in centuries. They marched up the roads to the Acropolis, and in turn to the palace, and he was lead into the Great Hall. On the throne, a middle-aged woman with copper skin and a purple chiton sat, a simple gold staff held in her hand, from the top of which hung a glowing length of cord. This must be Queen Otrera of Themyscira.

“Daughter,” Otrera called across the hall, her voice carrying all the power and grace Wildcat expected from a queen, “What have you brought to me?”

“A man, Mother,” the leader said, “He was found drinking from the forest river near the south beach.”

“A man…?” Otrera set eyes upon him, her eyes full of steel, “Bring him before me.” Wildcat was marched forward until he was at the foot of Otrera’s throne. “Hippolyta,” the queen commanded, “Bind him with the Lasso of Truth.”

The leader of the hunting party stepped forward, taking the length of golden cord from the top of the queen’s staff and tying a simple loop around him. “So, your name is Hippolyta?” Wildcat asked tentatively.

“That’s Princess Hippolyta to you, man,” one of the retainers sneered, and Otrera slammed the butt of her staff into the mosaiced floor. 

“Enough,” she said, “The Lasso shall decry if the man is to be trusted. What is your name?”

“Theodore Grant,” he said automatically, “Codename Wildcat.”

“And why were you given such a codename?” the queen pursued.

“I am the leader of an elite squad of extraordinary heroes, called the Justice Society of America,” he responded, “We are securing the line in the war.”

“What war?”

“The war between the Allied and Axis powers.”

“And which power do you fight for, Wildcat?”

“The Allies.”

“Which side is winning?”

“The Axis.”

The queen pursed her lips, “How have you found yourself here?”

“A man called Per Degaton confronted me, I was sent here against my will.”

“And what do you plan to do?”

“Return to the war, protect my home the best I can.”

The queen studied him. “Will you tell anyone of Themyscira, Wildcat?”

“Not if you ask me not to.” 

Everyone bristled in surprise. There had been no hesitation, no attempt to resist the Lasso, just pure and simple truth. This did not fit with what they were told of Man’s World. Surely this man must have some impurity?

“Very well, Wildcat,” Queen Otrera removed the Lasso, replacing it on the top of her staff, “We will return you to Man’s World. Tomorrow we shall prepare an expedition to escort you, then to return to Themyscira immediately. Until then, you will be held in the Acropolis.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Wildcat said gratefully, giving her an awkward salute. Was he supposed to bow? Salute? Well, he was already saluting, so salute it was. He was brought to a small room within the palace. It had one bed, no windows, a few candles, and a full-length mirror on one wall. That was all. 

“There will be two guards outside at all times,” an Amazon told him, “So don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied wearily. He had just settled into his bed when his door was opened. “You know,” he sighed, “In ‘Man’s World’ there’s such a thing as knocking on the door.”

“There is such a custom in Themyscira, as well,” Hippolyta replied amusedly, “But it gives no favor to stealth.”

“Hippolyta!” Wildcat realized in surprise, sitting up quickly on the bed, “I-I mean, Prince-”

“Hippolyta will do just fine,” she said, cutting him off, “This war in Man’s World, you said Europe was about to fall… is Europe a, large area?”

“An entire continent,” Wildcat said after a pause.

Hippolyta leaned against the far wall uncomfortably, “Themyscira is a strong nation,” she started, “We could help, end this bloodshed…”

“No offense,” Wildcat said, “But Man’s World has moved far beyond bows and spears. Themyscira will be totally outmatched.”

Hippolyta smirked, some of her typical spitfire returning, “We Amazons are strong, least of all because of our bows and spears. I am well aware of Man’s new weapons, the firearm, as you call it. We are fully prepared to deal with them.”

Wildcat shifted on the bed, “But…?” he prompted her.

“But,” Hippolyta sighed, “Mother has forbidden any Amazon intervention. We are all to remain on Themyscira while thousands die every day.”

Wildcat stared in shock as a single tear rolled down her cheek, glinting in the dim firelight of the room’s candles. “You’re crying…” he said dumbfoundedly. It didn’t make sense to him. Hippolyta had seemed so strong to him, much stronger than any of the other people he knew, but here she was, crying over the deaths of people she knew next to nothing about.

Hippolyta hastily wiped her tear away, scowling at her own weakness. “Why are you really here?” Wildcat asked.

Hippolyta stared him dead in the eye. “I want to help,” she declared.

They looked at each other for a long moment. “Okay,” Wildcat agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FINALLY HAPPENED! HIPPOLYTA HAS ARRIVED!! Prepare for the firiest of spitfires, my friends.


	9. In Blackest Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young artist is shocked awake by vivid nightmares, and what they reveal to him will change his world forever...

{August 19, 2018}  
{Coast City}  
{Kyle Rayner}

Thunder boomed outside as Kyle woke up with a gasp. He was sweating, and he shuddered as he desperately tried to catch his breath. He shuddered as he finally calmed down. Deftly, he swung his legs out of bed and moved to his desk. He turned on the lamp with a faint click! and set out the sheet of white paper in front of him. He took out a standard, sharp pencil, and began to draw. First, the background, a city in flames, decimated by the burst of power. Next, the characters. They were all blurry, they always were. But this time, Kyle managed to make out about two dozen people, all staggering in a haphazard circle, in various states of injury or panic. A few of them flew, capes fluttering behind them in the wind. One man in a wide-brimmed helmet knelt by a large piece of rubble, his blurry, indistinct face staring up at the center of the drawing in fear. Another was holding up his fist, as if trying to protect himself. He wore no shield of any kind, but Kyle just somehow knew that he was putting up a barrier, shielding the broken form of another hero behind him. He’d drawn this several times, the ragged circle of broken heroes looking up at a central figure. Before, though, he’d never been able to draw the centerpiece, it was always too blurry. Every now and again, he managed to make out an outstretched hand, the cascading ripple of a cape caught in the wind, but nothing complete. Nothing that was clear. He wasn’t sure why, but he called the scene Starburst. He didn’t know how he’d come up with the name, but that’s what it seemed like, heroes defending themselves from a miniature supernova.

Now, however, he shocked himself with how much detail he was able to put into the drawing. In the center of Starburst, a man had his back arched as he floated in the air, a long cape flaring out behind him. He wore knee-high boots, and Kyle could tell power was radiating off of him. What Kyle found most interesting was the symbol he had drawn on the man’s chest, an old fashioned lantern, emblazoned in the center of a plain white circle. Perhaps there was a relation to Green Lantern? On second thought… the man holding up his arm… Kyle let his pencil detail the man in the background, and sure enough, what he uncovered was the Green Lantern, looking much younger, and in a state of panic as he guarded the man behind him with a hastily made dome. 

Kyle felt an odd pull toward both of them. The caped man in the center more so than Green Lantern himself. With the caped man, he felt like he was looking at his long-lost father, or something like that. With Lantern, he felt a connection, but he couldn’t find the words to describe it. It wasn’t like the caped man, like he was looking at a family member. It was more like a platonic admiration, like he knew of him, knew who he was, and they got along great, but that’s where it stopped. 

He needed to know who the caped man was, and how they were connected. But, he had no idea where to start. Kyle sighed as he tabled the drawing, put back his pencil, and turned off the lamp. He was about to return to bed when he noticed a green star in the night sky. It was storming out, he shouldn’t have been able to see any stars, let alone a green one. He quickly realized it was getting bigger. And bigger. Kyle yelped and dove to the side as the green comet smashed through his window, soared across his apartment and lodged itself in his refrigerator. 

Green light pulsed throughout his room as Kyle slowly removed himself from the floor, then stood to inspect it. He crept toward his refrigerator, which currently had a scorched, glowing crater in the center of it.

Kyle marveled as he saw what had lodged itself in his fridge. It was a lantern, like the one he’d drawn on the caped man’s chest, glowing bright green. He reached out to touch it, and a tiny green dark flew from inside the lantern, fixing itself to his finger, and after Kyle stopped screaming, he realized it was a green ring. “Oh,” Kyle said as he realized what this meant, “No way…”

Kyle Rayner of Earth, a booming voice spoke inside his mind, You have shown a great propensity for creativity and will, and have been chosen to wield the Starheart. Seek out Alan Scott, and prepare.

“Prepare?” Kyle asked it, “Prepare for what!?” There was no answer. His apartment was eerily silent. Kyle stared down at the little green ring. “What just happened…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World, meet Kyle Rayner. Badass Green Lantern that also wields the motherfucking Starheart, just like Alan. Perfect fit, don't you think?


	10. Et tu, Brute?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The JSA is still reeling from the loss of their leader, Wildcat, and have spent several restless days searching for him fruitlessly. Finally, as their resolve starts to wear thin, they are approached by a new enemy, unlike any they'd encountered before.

{December 6, 1941}  
{Vichy France}  
{Green Lantern}

Alan was wearing thin. So was the rest of the JSA. Wildcat had gone missing six days ago, and they’d been scouring Europe for him ever since. Alan had stepped up as the leader in Wildcat’s absence, but he was beginning to feel the strain. Jay tried to help, he always did, but there had been three fights today alone, all of them involving Sandman. Luckily, either Beetle or Flash had been in the immediate vicinity to break it up.

Everyone was tired, overworked, and scared. They were coming apart at the seams. Alan sighed forcefully to himself as he prepared himself to enter the briefing room. They’d taken refuge in an old French house, which was being used as a base for a small pocket of French rebels. He threw open the door, and the room silenced. Sandman grumbled as he leaned against the back wall. The leader of the French rebels had a rifle slung over his shoulder, and he looked unhappy as he pored over a map with Doctor Midnite. Flash had set his helmet on the table and looked like he had just finished a discussion with Beetle, who had his face mask down, or put away, or whatever happened when it disappeared. Hourman had his hood down, and he was standing around the table with the map, and he was standing beside Thunderbolt, who looked as unhappy as the rest. “What do we have to go on?” Alan asked.

“On the rebellion?” the Frenchman asked, “The Nazis still hold the city with an iron grip. If we want to get anywhere, we need to destroy their supply depot at the river dock.”

“And on our missing man?” Alan asked after a pause. Instantly he knew it was a mistake. The room’s mood, which was already gloomy, soured even more, even the ever-jubilant Jay Garrick scowled.

“Nothing,” Midnite said, “No one in France has seen hide nor hair of our stray Wildcat.”

“He just disappeared,” Jay said sadly.

“Look, I don’t mean to be insensitive,” the Frenchman sighed exasperatedly, “But I think it might be time to consider that maybe your commander isn’t coming back because he doesn’t want to.”

Alan’s eyes narrowed, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” the Frenchman continued, “That he was just a boxer from New Jersey. This war has him in way over his head, and on top of that, he had an entire squad of superhumans to command. It’s enough to stress anyone out.”

Sandman removed himself from the shadows, “Are you calling Grant a coward?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. The Frenchman kept his mouth shut, possibly out of fear, possibly out of hindsight. Or both. “Well!?” Sandman demanded, “Are you calling the only person I fucking respect in this world a deserter? A weak-willed, yellow-bellied coward!?”

“Oh, please, I don’t think that’s hardly fair,” said a new, German voice. A strange, metallic sound rang out, and a blue beam pierced the Frenchman’s head, killing him instantly.

The JSA whirled, their powers and weapons at the ready. They were met with a man with close-cropped blonde hair, angular features, and a sharp black uniform. On his belt, a red letter D acted as a buckle. The strange man chuckled darkly, “Wildcat fought admirably. He simply had no choice in the matter.”

“Who are you?” Alan asked, his power ring glowing as his power massed around him, “And what have you done with Wildcat?”

“You may address me as Per Degaton,” the man said, “And I simply gave Wildcat a new home. One I believe he will find most… attractive.”  
The JSA formed up around Green Lantern. Sandman cranked open the valve on his gas pack. Beetle’s armor shifted back up around him. Hourman threw up his hood as Flash straightened his helmet. Thunderbolt rubbed his ring, and Yz appeared next to him as Midnite raised his revolvers. “Oh, my,” Degaton drawled, “The Justice Society of America in its prime, aiming all their might at me. I suppose I should be intimidated, ja?”

“That’d help, yes,” Midnite quipped, inclining his revolver.

“Per Degaton,” Green Lantern said, and green light glowed around him with a burning intensity, “I have three words for you. Where. Is. Wildcat.”

 

“Oh, are you going to fight me?” Degaton asked, his lips curling into a cruel grin.

“Yes,” Sandman said, leveling his gas gun, “Or at the very least, I really fucking hope so.”

“That would be a trick indeed,” Degaton said, “But how will you fight me when you have too much to worry about fighting yourselves?” Degaton raised his hand and snapped his fingers, and the JSA started to hear a peculiar sound.

“Is that…?” Midnite started, then he slumped over as violin music started to drift through the air. 

“Midnite!?” Beetle whirled in alarm, crouching next to the man, and then Flash stumbled to the ground as Hourman groaned and slumped against the wall, the music getting louder.

“What are you doing to them!?” Lantern wheeled on Per Degaton, and the blonde man chuckled. 

“Me?” he feigned surprise, “Why, I am doing nothing!”

“Stop this!” Lantern charged at him, “Now!” He blasted Per Degaton with a beam of green energy, and surprisingly, then mysterious man stumbled back in shock. Alan’s eyes glowed as he charged forward, slamming Degaton into the wall. Now he knew. Degaton was not invincible.

Then a gunshot rang out against the music. Alan turned to see Doctor Midnite standing against Blue Beetle, his revolver smoking, and Beetle looked surprised and hurt as he stared in shock at the bullet in his armor. Right over his heart. If his armor hadn’t stopped it, he’d be dead.

“Midnite, what are you doing!?” Lantern screamed, and then he got a faceful of fist as he was sent flying. “Wh-what the he- oh, no,” Lantern’s eyes widened as he saw Hourman standing over him, fists clenched. 

Sandman tackled Midnite, punching him down, and Beetle stared in surprise. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Sandman shouted at him, “DON’T YOU GET IT? FLASH, TOO!” His warning came too late, and Flash dropped Blue Beetle with a supersonic punch. Their friends had been turned against them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could possibly be happening!? Why are they fighting? Why is Degaton doing this? Well, the answers to all this and more next time!
> 
> (PS: REALLY pay attention to the date now)


	11. They Shall Not Grow Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round 1: Sandman vs Doctor Midnite! The two veterans duke it out as Sandman desperately tries to make his comrade snap out of whatever control he's under. Will he succeed?

Sandman growled in pain as Midnite hit him off. “Come on, Doc, snap out of it!” he muttered, catching Midnite with a vicious right hook. He followed it up with a left-handed uppercut, but Midnite grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him back, using the extra weight of the gaspack to make him overbalance and fall over. Sandman desperately threw up his hands to defend himself, but he felt Midnite’s fist connect against his mask. Blow after blow slammed Sandman’s head into the hardwood floor until he was finally able to kick Midnite off.

“Dammit, Midnite, don’t make me do this!” he said as he rolled out of the way of a pistol shot. Sandman shoulder charged the shorter man, hitting him through the nearby wall. The good doctor was stunned, but only for a moment. At the next beat, he drew his revolver and fired. Sandman howled as the bullet tore through his upper arm, knocking him to the ground. Midnite stood, gun still smoking, and stood over the groaning, thrashing form of his comrade. He seemed to be hesitating, fighting whatever force was urging him to fire again, to finish the job, and he held out just long enough for Sandman to sweep his legs out from under him, and used the wall to stand. 

Another shot rang out, followed by a hissing sound. Sandman’s eyes widened behind the mask as he realized the bullet had put a hole in his antidote canister. He was running out of air. He blinked blood out of his eyes as he fumbled with the can, trying desperately to unscrew and replace it. Before he could, though, Midnite’s fist crashed into him, and he was sent sprawling to the floor. He began to cough and choke, and he heard Midnite speak for the first time. “Without your gas, you’ll die,” he said. It was meant as a taunt, but it came out with a twinge of regret, like he’d just given a patient bad news. Wesley growled. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him his life depended on a can of fake air. And he sure as hell didn’t need any more bad news from one, either. Sandman turned and kicked at Midnite’s ankles, making the Irishman fall, then took off the canister the rest of the way, taking the next one off his belt to put it in. He hacked and coughed as darkness encroached on his vision, and he started to black out. [Not yet!] he thought, and he attached the new canister, gasping as clean air rushed back into his broken lungs. 

He rolled up into a standing position, facing down Midnite. He remembered being a young private in the trenches, so eager to serve. So young, so stupid. He was barely old enough to hold a rifle, let alone enlist. But he’d lied to get in. Midnite had probably been pulled in because of his medical training, even though he could have only been just out of med school. Both of them had seen the horror of war before. The others hadn’t, not as they had. Only Midnite understood what he’d been through at the St. Quentin. Only Sandman understood what Midnite had been through in the Aisne. The mud, the fire, the gas, the shells. The piling dead. Both men had walked through hell. “What was so great about it?” Sandman asked.

“Wh-what?” Midnite asked, half strained, half bewildered.

“The Great War,” Sandman explained, “What was so great about it? All I remember is gas and mud.”

“Blood, cries of the wounded,” Midnite said, his voice small, “The men I couldn’t save.”

“And they had the nerve to call it great,” Sandman said bitterly, “It was pointless. Thousands, millions died because a Serbian terrorist decided he wanted a sandwich.”

Midnite’s guns clattered to the floor, “This one is different.”

Now it was Sandman’s turn to be surprised. “What?” he asked.

“Our war was pointless, yes,” Midnite said, his voice becoming stronger, “But this war, this one has a purpose. The Kaiser is not the Fuhrer. This isn’t being fought because one man died. This war is because thousands died before it even started. This is a just war.”

“Justice…” Sandman pondered, “Not something you can find much anymore.”

“I think I finally understand that name now,” Midnite responded.

“Why?” 

“Because you’re right.”

“I am?”

“Justice is in short supply,” Midnite said, and Sandman could tell his voice was fully his, “That’s why we’re here. A society, dedicated to Justice, to spread the good word. To justify all those Poles and Czechs and Jews and Frenchmen and Brits that are dying. If we win, it won’t have been for nothing, like it was before.”

Sandman stared at him. “Welcome back, Doc,” he said.

Midnite smiled, “Thanks. It’s just, you got me thinking, enough that I was able to break through the fog in my head.”

“You were very inspiring, you know,” Sandman chuckled.

Midnite laughed nervously. “Come on,” Sandman said, cranking the valve on his gaspack again, “So that their deaths aren’t in vain.”

“So that they have justice,” Midnite agreed, and they went back to the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The First World War was one of, if not the, bloodiest and most pointless conflicts in human history. It lasted from 1914 to 1918, and was caused by Archduke Frans Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary being assassinated by a Serbian insurgent. In fact, the first assassination attempt failed, but the assassin decided to get a sandwich at a shop that the archduke's car just happened to pass. He took the shot. The "Great War" claimed the lives of millions of British, French, Commonwealth, Serbian, Austro-Hungarian, Russian, German, Ottoman, and American young men. Its battles were particularly brutal, consisting mostly of trench warfare. For the first time in world history, there was widespread use of machine guns, tanks, and chemical weapons. Battles lasted days, months, sometimes even years. Some estimate that a mere 5cm of ground was gained per lost life. It was called the War to End All Wars. It ended nothing. It's been a little over a hundred years since the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, which brought the grueling fighting to an end. All of the men that fought in this war are dead. However, their descendants are not. I'm writing this here because I urge you, find out about your ancestors that fought on the fields of the Great War, and keep their memory alive. If nothing else, these men deserved to be remembered for their brave and selfless service to their countries. If you wish to find out more about the First World War, I recommend a documentary called "They Shall Not Grow Old" (It also served as the inspiration for the chapter's title), as well as a song called "The Price of a Mile", by the band Sabaton.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi-diddly-ho, readeroonies! So, this is The Good Old Days, it's a fic about the JSA way back in, well, the good old days. But, that doesn't necessarily mean you can stop paying attention to the modern day story. I have plans for my favorite war veterans... muahahaha! As for the stuff that happened in the story, it actually has a lot of historical bases. The Wildcat fight was based off Joe Louis vs Max Schmeling, in which Joe Louis, a black man, won against the Aryan Schmeling. I just swapped out Joe Louis with Wildcat, and to make sure the scene was no less powerful than it was in real life, made Wildcat a Jew. DISCLAIMER: In truth, Max Schmeling was in no way a Nazi. He was actually a very sportsmanlike and honorable person. He never claimed that Joe Louis had cheated in any way, and gracefully accepted his defeat. For the purposes of the story, I made him a human shitstain, and I apologize for that. The Battle of the Aisne and the Battle of St. Quentin Canal are real WWI battles and you may have caught a few name drops promising things to come Anyway, this probably won't update very often, I write whenever I'm in the mood to, so I'm sorry about that, but I'll do my damnedest not to keep you waiting too long. Note I have a general understanding about the Golden Age, but I'm too lazy to go back and read all those comics, so some things won't be exactly right. Thanks for reading, and please, leave comments!


End file.
